


Down the River

by glackedandmullered



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Self Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:45:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glackedandmullered/pseuds/glackedandmullered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Down the river not across the street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down the River

**Author's Note:**

> ot6 prompt, kinda a step forward from one of your past fics. michael actually tries to kill himself, but not with pills, with vertical cuts up his wrists, and he hadn't counted on being found. it would be killer if it was from michael's pov

Down the river not across the street. 

It was such a fucking cliché. A popular saying amongst emo cliques and sad act kids who craved attention. Michael learnt it in the school halls behind chattering girls in all black and boys with nail polish and spiky haircuts. 

Lately he had been drifting. 

It took him a long time to realise he could love. He hadn’t felt it before leaving Jersey, he had tried to, had faked it with girls and boys alike but it always came up sour. Like a bad taste in his mouth that made him stay away from the affection everyone told him he should crave. 

Then he grew up. Then he met them. Geoff, tattooed and pierced and looking like more of a badass than Michael had ever seen before but the man had a heart of gold. He laughed and joked and played pranks around the office like an excited 12 year old but still knew how to be the firm, mature boss when needs called for it. Jack, the cuddliest teddy bear of a man that Michael felt so happy to be able to go home to at night and snuggle into the warmth of his arms. Jack who knew when something was wrong and always had to be there, whatever the cost. Ryan, the mad king who laughed like a child and got excited over gadgets and gizmos, who came out with the craziest things that would always lighten the mood. Ray, like the others always a child at heart and the one Michael could rely on when he needed an escape from reality. The one who, like him, would spend hours slicing up zombies and ghouls, taking on hordes of video game monsters and laugh at the blood that splattered the screen; then flip straight over and curl up with a blanket to watch My Little Pony. Then Gavin; his rock, his best friend. Gavin who acted like a moron and lost game after game just because while still being one of the smartest people Michael had ever known. 

He met them and he learned what love was. It wasn’t like the movies, not for Michael. There were no cheesy montages set to mushy romantic music, no days frolicking in flowery meadows while birds sang over their heads. Love for Michael was sharing pizza late at night when the editing was done and they couldn’t find the effort to get up and drive home; so they called in take out and sat on the office floor eating and laughing until the early hours of the morning when they figured they might as well just stay before crashing out mid morning on the couch and floor in front. Love was slaughtering each other time after time in game and getting so mad at Gavin that there would be a dog pile that roughed up the wires and cables that crossed the office floor. 

Love slowly became something that Michael never wanted to live without. 

So when it went away…He wanted to go with it. 

It hadn’t been sudden, hadn’t even been confirmed, they hadn’t broken up. They were still together, lived together, ate together, worked together. Still kissed and hugged and spent night after night curled around one another. They were still together but it felt lacking. It felt broken. They would often choose anyone else over him, he could feel the love draining by the day, disappearing. They became quieter, they drifted, they stopped laughing. He understood. That’s what he told himself so he could try to feel less helpless at least. Being in a relationship of 6 is hard, it was destined to fail from the beginning, at least with 6. 5 maybe, 5 might work, If they could stop spreading their love so thin, they might last. Michael would be the obvious choice. He was loud and obnoxious and they wouldn’t miss him. He wasn’t worth missing. Their lives could be easier again.

It was yet another cliché, man kills himself over lost love. 

How pathetic.

But he had let his guard down, had allowed something so fickle to take over him completely, so completely that he felt as though he was less than human when it was no longer there. 

He hadn’t planned this. Hadn’t run over every detail with a fine toothed comb. He had considered for a brief moment just running away, he could easily do it, buy a plane ticket to nowhere and disappear. That wouldn’t be good enough. He finds himself here. In a bright white room while all around him is dark, clinking metal breaking the silence that encroached all around him.

Down the river. His first cut was hesitant, it was open and weeping but it was nothing more than a scratch. 

Down the river. He gripped the razor harder, took a deep breath and the next cut was deeper but still not enough. He hissed with frustration and peered at himself in the mirror, steeling himself he took another inhale of air and rolled his shoulders out to calm his shaking hands. 

Down the fucking river. He pressed the razor to the base of his wrist, hard enough that the skin split beneath it and this was it. He exhaled slowly and dragged, skin parting like the sea and Michael could laugh at himself at the biblical imagery but then again he _was_ raised Catholic. There was probably a statistic somewhere in the world that told of people finding religion right before they die. The pain was immense; he had heard that it would feel numb, so deep that it wouldn’t feel like anything. They were fucking wrong. It hurt like hell, it hurt like he was ripping open his own arm and draining his body dry. Funny that. 

He staggered and fell to his knees, blood pumping out like a fountain, splattering the walls and the floor and Michael felt a distant sense of guilt that they would have to clean this up later. Darkness encroached on his vision, black spots throwing him off balance and the floor comes up to meet him. 

Banging. 

Crashing in the distance, miles from him it seems. 

The world explodes around him and he can hear wordless screaming. His body is shaken roughly while words filter through running water and blurred faces fill his vision. The floor vibrates as people run and he swears he can hear them telling him to hold on. Please hold on.  
Crying. Sobbing through dense fog. Shrieking heaving cries. But he has to tell them.

“It’s too late.” He whispers, his own voice sounding hollow to his ears.

Too late.


End file.
